Look, I don't often get excited about physical activity, but have you ever done Zumba? I LOVE IT. I love it! And yes, I think that's probably about as cool as admitting I love fannypacks—"bumbags" for my British readers, who've probably just spat out their tea in shock (Americans, I'll let you google the VERY DIFFERENT MEANING that doesn't seem to have crossed the pond)—but I don't care. I am obsessed with Zumba. It is my New Thing. Well, if by New Thing we're allowing that I've only done it twice. But I did it twice with passion.

Our house has been a bit of a hotel recently, which is why it feels like I've disappeared off the face of the earth. In the last week, we've had my parents, my sister, and Sean's brother staying with us—staggered mostly, with only minimal comedic overlap—and next week we have my brother, followed two weeks later by my other brother (plus two friends, one of them apparently so good-looking that his nickname is "Catwalk," I mean I'm a married lady and all but STILL). I have made up a lot of sofa beds lately, is what I'm saying.

Sean had an 8am meeting this morning, which meant we had to leave the house at 6:50am. I'm probably going to get laughed out of town by everyone with kids—"6:50am? You think 6:50am is early? 6:50am is a WEEK IN MAUI WITH GEORGE CLOONEY"—but considering it's an hour later than we normally leave, I thought 6:50am was fairly barbaric.

I really like throwing parties. I know it's not a particularly noble pursuit, but I get a huge kick out of—to borrow a term they use frequently on House Hunters (at least when the wife isn't making jokes about the husband giving her all the closet space)—"entertaining." Even before Pinterest made two-bit Martha Stewarts out of all of us, I always liked throwing parties.

I got catcalled on the street the other day by a busker outside a bar. It was just your garden variety catcall, complete with the sort of questionable grammar—"you sexy!"—that surely always gets the ladies whipping out their dayplanners to take down your phone number immediately, but it was notable for the fact that it was prefaced by two very, very, very unexpected words.

Hey, mom!

That's right. Somebody tried to get my attention on the street by shouting "Hey, mom! You sexy!"

I've suddenly found that I have all these friends with children. For a long time, we had hardly any friends with children and now we have enough to start a small football team, and I love it. Part of the reason is that hanging out with them is like all the fun bits of babysitting without the awkward bits like the parents arriving home early while you're standing in their kitchen eating their ice cream directly from the carton, but the other part is that now we get to have some really kickass parties.

I've become slightly worried that my husband might be doing some inappropriate hugging. Who do I talk to about this? Is there an advice columnist to whom I can write, hands a-wringin'? (Hands A-Wringin' is my new country & western band. I just decided that. Except I'm going to try and find us a Scandinavian lead singer so we can go one better and be Hans A-Wringin'. What was I talking about again? It's late and I don't think I should have added those three packets of Splenda to my Diet Coke and then chugged it.)

You know how Princess Diana said that famous thing about there being "three of us in this marriage"? Well, I feel like there are four of us in my marriage, and the other two are John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman.

Who are John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman? Oh, they're just the radio commentators for the Yankees games, and they come with us everywhere. They even came with us to Yellowstone.